Veiled Acres
by digitallic
Summary: Accidentally introduced to a part of the world that was never known to exist, a girl finds herself in the middle of a secret war waging right under the noses of the general public. Set parallel to J. K. Rowling's Wizarding World, does not involve original characters. This story will most likely not be updated.


Today was the day she found herself a better purpose in the world. Before today, she was a simple person, a boring person. Living the normal life. She was ready for many things and any surprises that could come her way, but she wasn't exactly keen on facing challenges. Nothing could've ever made her happy in this phase of her life. Well, nothing, except for the impossible, and to her, the impossible was exactly what happened.

The day started just about as gloomy and depressing as it could get. Dark storm clouds flooded the skies in unity, blocking all vision of the viewable cosmos with their simple dark greyness. Lightning filled up whatever space was underneath the clouds, and the accompanying thunder made sure that anyone using their ears at that moment had a rather difficult time. Or to a select few that just couldn't sleep that night. The not-so-soft pattering of rain on the windows didn't help.

One of the people affected by this lack of sleep was her: Hermione. No, not the Hermione you're familiar with. Not the know-it-all sidekick to the legendary Harry Potter, although if you were to place these two girls in a room and force them to argue about something, you mightn't be able to tell which witch was which. Right, this Hermione was also a witch. Only she didn't know it yet.

Twenty-something year old Hermione Palmer couldn't sleep. There wasn't much else to say. She was startled by the thunder, the rain, and it was simply just too loud for her to resume sleeping. So, instead of continuing her slumber, she decided to do the opposite: get up. She switched on the soft reading light, sat up, and stared at the glass analogue clock sitting on the wall. "Three forty-six," she muttered quietly to herself. Tock. "Three forty-seven."

Living alone did have its perks, as she was able to move freely around her recently-purchased and relatively small house, in darkness if she wished. She was also able to grab a snack whenever she wanted to, and that's exactly what she was about to do. The refrigerator was relatively empty, only filled with a few fast food leftovers, and more than a couple of two-litre bottles of fruit juice. She decided on the chicken pieces from a few nights ago, the day she went to a cinema with a few of those friends to see some random action movie starring some famous guy with a gun. Choosing that film wasn't exactly her best moment in life, and they all seemed to have agreed on that simple opinion.

As she hit start on the microwave, she could've sworn she heard one of her doors slam close. How? It couldn't've been the wind – all the windows were closed. She knew this only because the thunder would be much louder than it currently is if any of the windows were open. It definitely wasn't the sound of thunder, either. The latest lightning strike was three minutes ago; the night may have been dark, but the windows were made of glass, and because of that, they were transparent. It was a door.

Hermione had seen horror movies. The typical ones with typical reactions, where the victims yell out "who's there?" into the darkness expecting an answer. Hermione knew that if there was an intruder in her house, she'd better make herself scarce. Hermione suspected that there was, indeed, an intruder in her house, as nothing else could've slammed that door shut. However, becoming stealthy in her home at this hour was now quiet impossible as she'd already made enough noise bumping into the bench and such as she was preparing her food.

Though it mattered not. She was right about there being an intruder: it was a dark, hooded man wearing what seemed to be simple robes and a shiny... mask? Hermione knew that your typical burglar would wear a balaclava. Masks were for bank heists, but even then, no criminal would walk around wearing a mask this shiny, no matter for what job they're on.

The man stood in front of Hermione, within striking distance. Hermione was in shock; she didn't dare move for the fear of being harmed. The closest weapon to her was further away than he was. The man must've noticed Hermione backing towards the kitchen bench, because he pointed what looked like a really dull, or wooden, knife in her direction. "Miss Palmer. How lucky I am to meet you," he said with a deep voice, sounding very similar to a particular bow-wielding vigilante with a synthetic voice changer. "I've been sent here to give you your demise. As simple as that." He bowed his head, keeping his weapon aimed at Hermione.

"Why? And who are you?" Hermione asked as calmly as she possibly could. If she was about to be killed on this spot, those would not have been the greatest last words one could have. "Ah," he replied. "Since you're about to die, anyways, I'll bite. My name is Noah Perkins. I serve the Dar-" He wasn't able to finish his sentence as he was mysteriously sent flying and slammed head-first into a wall.

"Hey cutie, are you okay?" Came a voice from the opposite direction of Perkins. "Name's Scarlett, and I'm not your landlord." The mysterious woman lowered what looked like a glorified stick in her hands, similar to that of the man that almost killed her.

"No kidding, how did you get in? How did he get in?" said Hermione, pointing at a now knocked-out Noah Perkins.

"I don't know about him, but your front door was unlocked," said Scarlett.

"Oh, was it?"

"No, I'm kidding. I Apparated through it."

"Yeah, that's coo- What?"

"Nevermind that," Scarlett said as she sat on one of the rather comfortable couches in the living room. "Can you grab that guy's wand for me?"

Hermione looked confused. This Perkins person was holding a wand? Is that what she saw Scarlett slip into her pocket earlier? Is that how Perkins was pushed with so much force that he was flying for a bit; with magic? Hermione had so many questions to ask, but made her way towards the unconscious body of her would-be killer and struggled to pull the weapon out of his hand. "Great, that's yours now," began Scarlett. "Yeah, I know, the wand chooses the witch, etcetera. But this is only temporary." She then let out a minor chuckle. "Yer a witch, Hermione," she seemed to mimic someone in a thick accent.

"I-I'm a what?"

"Oh my gosh, you actually – oh wow, you said it, that's-that's absolutely brilliant! Look, Hermione, we're going to have to train you up a tad. Magic is in your blood. We can teach you a lot of things, because I'll be dead set honest with you. You're our best hope."

"We?" Hermione questioned.

"We've named ourselves Altrovorsum, short: Altro. It's Latin for something, I forgot. Think of us as some kind of resistance group, except we're the good guys. A good resistance group. The resistance. We're the resistance."

Hermione looked a little shocked, her weariness clearly visible in her face. "A resistance for what?" She asked.

"It's a war. We're fighting against a force with unimaginable power. But we'll win. I have faith." Scarlett replied.

"You know what? It's late, I'm probably dreaming, this is all just some weird experience, and none of this probably happened," Hermione said, yawning, then she tapped a button on her microwave. "It's also about four o'clock, so I'm gonna go back to bed. You can leave to your Altro-war-whatever,"

"Altrovorsum," Scarlett corrected.

"Take him with you," Hermione pointed at the groaning yet still unconscious Noah Perkins on the ground, "and come back tomorrow if you're not a figment of my imagination."

Scarlett shook her head and looked out the window, staring into the lightning in the night sky. She let out a small sigh. "Even with magic, I can't be bothered going back. Got any spare beds?"

Hermione gave herself a bit of time to calculate the amount of beds in her home. She concluded that the answer was, unfortunately, one. "I've my own double, but you can just take the couch you're sitting on. With your, uh, magic, I'm sure you can get yourself a blanket."

"I'm bunking with you, screw your couch," Scarlett said.

"Sure, whatev- hang on, what? With me?"

"Just a figment of your imagination, right?"

And with that final sentiment, both girls were sharing the same bed and - consequently - sharing the same blanket.


End file.
